


Adventures in Askbox Prompts

by kototyph



Category: Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Family, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Space, Artificial Intelligence, Castiel the Borrower, Castiel's Pimpmobile, Conventions, Cosplay, Deanie is a Cutie, Dragon!Castiel, Ficlet Collection, Gabriel as the God Enki, Guinea Pig Dean Winchester, Jimmy as Cas' Dad Gives Me the Warm Fuzzies Okay, Law School, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mesopotamia, Nachos are a Primary Food Group, PHIL/ELLEN: WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE THIS A THING, Sam the Inexplicably British Child, Sam the Pie Ninja, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/pseuds/kototyph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of fills for prompts persons known and unknown have left in my askbox on tumblr.</p><p>1. Dean/Castiel - adventures in zero gravity<br/>2. Jimmy + Cas - trying to open a pickle jar [v1]<br/>3. Jimmy + Cas - trying to open a pickle jar [v2]<br/>4. Sam + Kate-Werewolf (s08e04) - lamenting the loss of their law careers<br/>5. Dean + Cas (+ Sam) - Dean gets turned into a guinea pig<br/>6. Benny/Cas - arguing over who's car to take<br/>7. Gabe + Kali - adventures in Mesopotamia<br/>8. Phil Coulson/Ellen Harvelle - undercover drug dealers (WTF, WTAF)<br/>9. Cassie/Dean - Cassie Robinson on meeting Dean Winchester<br/>10. Sam + Dean - Sam is a ninja and the reason Dean never has any pie is Sam gets to it first.<br/>11. Charlie/Katie-Werewolf - charlie/werewolf kate, ummmm, nachos. i'm so hungry<br/>12. Sam + Castiel - sam/cas, piggy back ride<br/>13. Dean/Cas -  Dean and Cas are internet friends who meet at a convention<br/>14. Dean/Castiel - dragon!Cas AU<br/>15. BALTHAZAR+CASTIEL+SAM ARE SPACE PIRATES<br/>16. Dean Smith x 2014!Cas - Flight of the Conchords "Leggy Blonde"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean/Castiel - adventures in zero gravity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aiulbones (Flux)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flux/gifts), [feraldanvers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feraldanvers/gifts), [glovered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glovered/gifts), [s-cornelius](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=s-cornelius), [Whit Merule (whit_merule)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whit_merule/gifts), [queeniebroccolini](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=queeniebroccolini).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  [aiulbones](http://aiulbones.tumblr.com/): Dean Cas - adventures in zero gravity

“Cas?”

It’s a moment before CastIEL replies, and Dean half-imagines he can hear the AI booting up under the general buzz and murmur of the ship’s systems: a low, throaty purr, kind of like his voice, rising from a foreboding bass hum to the mellow monotone that answers him after a thirty-second pause.

_“Hello, Dean.”_

Dean smiles. “Morning.”

_“Yes, it is. Have you eaten your fruit leather?”_

Dean looks guiltily at the unopened wrapper floating next to the remains of his breakfast MRE. “I’m getting to it.”

 _“You need the vitamins,”_  CastIEL scolds. _“Eat, please.”_

Dean makes a face, but he dutifully reaches for it, peeling the shiny plastic off the thick, slightly sticky strip of dehydrated apple and letting it drift away towards the command console. “Hey, are you busy right now?”

There’s a sliding scale of electronic noise, which Dean knows is CastIEL’s approximation of a sigh.  _“In any one millisecond, eighty percent of my processing power is devoted to the speed and navigation of the ship, in addition to the ten to fifteen commanded by the life support systems, the hydroponics units and monitoring your favored Terran sports teams, Dean. I am always busy.”_

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

Dean methodically demolishes his fruit leather, one grainy, chewy bite and a time, and CastIEL gives another, longer sigh.

_“Did you need something?”_

It’d sound ridiculous, telling a ship AI he’d just wanted to hear his voice. “Uh, no. Carry on navigating.”

_“Dean.”_

“What?”

_“I’m getting in my chassis.”_

Dean rubs a hand over his face. “Cas, it’s nothing, I was just—”

There’s the distinct _click_ of CastIEL disconnecting from the ship’s comm system, and Dean groans, stretching back in midair. “Cas, goddamn it.”

He’s recaptured the fruit leather wrapper and put it in the recycler when the far doors whoosh open, bringing a breath of fresher air from the atrium.

“You didn’t have to come all the way down here,” Dean grumbles, putting out a hand to rotate himself upright.

CastIEL, dressed a skintight jumpsuit and a long, lean body based on that of the scientist who’d coded him, kicks off lightly from the wall and sails along the corridor. “And _you_ did not have to wake me up.”

“Dude, you don’t sleep,” Dean says, then lets out a surprised “Oof!” as CastIEL’s bulk smacks into his middle, one of his arms catching and holding Dean at the ribs.

“I know for a fact you haven’t completed your strength training, either,” the AI says, turning expertly in place and launching them back towards the door. “Physical exercise and proper nutrition are essential to a happy and healthy flight crew.”

Dean clings to the arm around his his waist and tells himself  it’s because he’s being hauled across the room like a sack of potatoes, not because CastIEL’s chassis is warm and solid and smells faintly like copper pennies. He’s coming to associate that smell with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts.

“I have noticed you tend to neglect yourself in favor of accomplishing mission parameters,” CastIEL continues, eyes narrowed. “As your partner, I cannot allow this.”

“No?” Dean asks with a slow smile. They bump gently against the door, drifting apart. “You gonna be my nannybot?”

“If necessary,” CastIEL says firmly. He looks up at Dean as he presses his palm to the lock, and his voice softens, ever so slightly. “You must _tell me_ if you need something, Dean.”

The door opens and the slight pressure differential pulls them through, into the atrium where the trees far, far below (above?)  grow in crazy spirals and the air smells sweet, like sap and rain. CastIEL’s manufactured eyes are very, very blue, and there’s a gleam of understanding in them that makes Dean look away hurriedly.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbles, and leaves his hand in CastIEL’s as they push off into space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (CastIEL =  **Cast I** ntelligence, specialty:  **E** ngineering and  **L** ogistics)


	2. Jimmy Cas - trying to open a pickle jar [VERSION ONE]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  [aiulbones](http://aiulbones.tumblr.com/):  Jimmy Cas - trying to open a pickle jar

Jimmy watches with his lip between his teeth, trying not to laugh as Castiel’s small face turns red with effort and the stubborn Gherkins lid refuses to budge an inch.

“Hey, champ,” he says when he just can’t take it any more. “You want to let Daddy have a try?”

“No,” Castiel says immediately, both hands wrapped around the jar now. “I can do it.”

“You sure?”

“I can!”

“Just let Dad open it, you goober,” Claire says, with all the lofty disdain a newly-teenaged big sister can muster. “I need pickles on my burger.”

Castiel looks ready to cry in frustration. “No! I want to do it!”

Jimmy wipes his hand on a towel and turns to slide his arms around his son, chin brushing the persistent cowlicks that crown his head. “Here, let me show you a trick.”

His hands wrap around the jar over Castiel’s, and he slowly turns the jar upside down and taps in on the counter.

“Sometimes it’s stuck, you know? If you tap it on the side— just on the edge, see? A little harder.”

“Mmhm.” Castiel makes a noise of deep concentration and whacks the edge of the lid down.

“Try it now?”

Castiel clumsily turns it over, gets his whole arm around the lid and twists— and the lid come off with a loud, satisfying pop. Castiel grin is huge.

“Look, Daddy! I did it!”

“Whoopee,” Claire says with an eyeroll so pronounced it must hurt. “Now, can I  _please_  have some pickles?”


	3. Jimmy Cas - trying to open a pickle jar [VERSION TWO]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  [aiulbones](http://aiulbones.tumblr.com/):  Jimmy Cas - trying to open a pickle jar

Castiel opens a pickle jar.

“Oh,” he says, surprised.

“What?” Sam, unloading the rest of the groceries beside him, looks down over his shoulder at the brine-y spears. “Crap, did Dean get those gross okra things again?”

“No,” Castiel says slowly, setting the lid aside. “No, I think I felt— for a moment…”

He looks up at Sam, gaze somber.

“I feel as though I’ve opened this jar before.”

* * *

_Four years ago:_

“For the love of Pete!” Jimmy yells, and the pickle jar goes skittering away from him across the counter. Amelia manages to catch it before it hits the ground, and as she sets it upright, the look she gives her husband is caught somewhere between pity and bleak disappointment.

“What?  _What?_  I have delicate hands!” he tells her, gesturing dramatically with said delicate hands.

“I know you do, honey,” she says with a soft, sad smile, and turns and leaves the kitchen.

“You knew that when you married me!” Jimmy calls after her.

No answer, and Jimmy turns with impotent rage to the pickle jar, the evil, conniving, probably-glued-shut-as-some-kind-of-practical-joke pickle jar.

“I will open you,” he promises, low and vicious. “I’ll do whatever it takes. God give me strength—”

AHEM, says the angel lurking in his shadow. I BELIEVE I MAY BE ABLE TO HELP WITH THAT.

* * *

“Oh, that feeling?” Sam says with a laugh, propping a bag of apples next to the fruit bowl. “It’s called deja-vu, Cas. Everyone gets it now and then.”

Castiel considers this, and slowly nods. “I see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot courtesy of sarah ([x](http://plainwater.tumblr.com/))
> 
> **Sarah** : cas opens a pickle jar!  
>  **moi** :  okay  
>  **Sarah** :  and then "in another universe"  
>  **moi** :  ???!?  
>      ooooo  
> Sarah:  "jimmy is still trying"  
>      "three years later"  
>  **moi** :  poor dude  
>  **Sarah** :  can he exclaim  
>      "I HAVE DELICATE HANDS"  
>  **moi** :  SNERK  
>  **Sarah** :  AND THEN END WITH HIM PRAYING TO CASTIEL TO HELP HIM  
>      AND THENT HINGS SORT OF START ALL OVER AGAIN


	4. Sam + Kate (s08e04) - lamenting the loss of their law careers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [aiulbones](http://aiulbones.tumblr.com/): Sam and that werewolf chick from last season (Kate?) - lamenting over their long lost law careers

“I think I even miss CivPro,” she admits, facedown on the couch with her last beer still in hand.

Sam blinks at the ceiling, which for the last several minutes has been executing a particularly lethargic waltz. “How is that possible.”

“I  _know_ ,” she says wretchedly. “That class was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Before, you know. The werewolf thing.”

“I had dreams,” Sam says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Horrible, horrible dreams about service of process. For weeks.”

Kate lifts an arm and pats over the floor until she finds his shoulder. “This one time I forgot to read the casebook and asked to pass a question, and my professor made me read the whole thing and summarize it out loud.  _In class_.”

“I once wrote a deposition that was forty pages long,” Sam says. “In forty-eight hours.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“… I still miss it.”

“… yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> civpro = Civil Procedure, a.k.a the class from H-E-Double hockey sticks


	5. DeanCas - Dean gets turned into a guinea pig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [aiulbones](http://aiulbones.tumblr.com/): DeanCas - Dean gets turned into a guinea pig

“Okay, I found the pennyroil root, and I think this bottle says ‘bee venom’ but honestly the writing’s a little scuff—”

Sam stops. Castiel, all his arm and half his shoulder under the horsehair couch, stops. Dean, if the scrabbling sound of tiny little claws on stone is any indication, continues to run away.

“Cas,” Sam says heavily, settling the delicate vials on the table next to the other ingredients. “I thought we’d agreed he should stay in the cage while he’s… like this?”

“He looked sad,” Castiel says, cheek mashed into the rug. “The cage is so small.”

The cage is a monstrous tower of neon-bright plastic, pine shavings and gratuitous wooden chewtoys, but Castiel has an inexplicable weakness for small rodents and their beady black eyes. Or maybe just a weakness for Dean, whatever form he’s in. Sam tries not to grit his teeth.

“I know it might seem… mean,” he starts, “but I really, really think it’s best for everyone if he stays where we can see him, don’t you?”

From somewhere under the couch, Dean makes a series of noises like balloons rubbing together.

“… I suppose so,” Castiel says, reluctantly.

“Good,” Sam says, “that’s good. Now, let’s get at both ends of this thing and—”

The couch ultimately does not survive the encounter, but Dean is returned to his cage and Castiel summarily relieved of all Dean-sitting duties, relegated instead to searching the bunker for antidote ingredients.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to bite you, ah, quite so much,” he says anxiously, hovering at Sam’s arm. “Let me—”

 _“Go,”_  Sam says.

“But I—”

_“Now, please.”_

Secure in his rainbow playpen, Dean’s only comment sounds a bit like bicycle springs.


	6. Benny/Cas - arguing over whose car to take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [aiulbones](http://aiulbones.tumblr.com/):
> 
> Benny Cas - arguing over whose car to take

“Look, Cas,” Benny drawls. “If we’re playing pimps and skanks, that’s fine with me. All I ask is that we do it somewhere a little less grungy than that fuckin’ junker.”

Castiel scowls. “My vehicle is perfectly clean—”

Your car is a disgrace,” Benny says. “An eyesore. I wouldn’t be caught— ha—  _dead_  in it. We’re takin’ mine.”

Castiel looks mulish. “And what does ‘playing pimps and skanks’ require that my car does not possess?”

Benny grins with all his teeth. “Me, for a start. Those cuffs you like, for another.”

Now, Castiel gives him an appraising look. “You have those with you?”

Benny winks. “Got a lot more than that,  _chéri._ ”

“… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt this once,” Castiel says far, far too casually, and Benny makes a considering noise.

“Well, it might hurt a  _little…_ ”


	7. Gabe + Kali - adventures in Mesopotamia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [aiulbones](http://aiulbones.tumblr.com/): Gabe Kali - adventures in Mesopotamia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (whoa, I did way too much research for this, and it’s STILL not chronologically accurate— go figure)

Eridu is very large, and very loud, and if Agni-Father raises an eyebrow at her slow retreat to a position slightly behind his legs, he at least doesn’t comment on her cowardice. The gods of Babylon and Assyria are thoughtful, alien beings, beards in long round curls and kohl rimmed around their eyes. Agni’s fire is lurid in comparison.

“Welcome, Agni Jaataveda,” says Ashur, calm and robed in feathers, from the third throne.

“Welcome, Agni Kravyada,” says Marduk, of kingly presence and bearing. His is only the second throne.

“Welcome, Agni, but who is this?” asks Enki, eyes bright with curiosity. He immediately alights from the first throne, stepping down from the dais to crouch to her eye-level. To be fair, he does not have to crouch far. This makes her feel slightly better.

“Ah! You meet Kālarātri,” Agni says proudly. “She of the black night and the whispering dreams.”

“A bold title!” Enki says. “Come closer, little one. The black night should not fear my waters.”

“Quit teasing the poor thing,” Marduk says with a laugh as he also rises.

“I am no poor thing,” Kali says, immediately incensed. She stomps her foot and shakes the rafters. “I came to the Pandava in dreams of darkness and swallowed all of Raktabija!”

“Oh, I like you!” Enki says delightedly, holding out his arm for her to take. “Then sit with me, O Devourer. We will feast and drink and boast, and you will tell me of your exploits in the land of the Vedas!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enki was the patron god of the Mesopotamian city of Eridu, and the deity of “[crafts, mischief, water, seawater, lakewater, intelligence and creation](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Enki)”. Gabriel was all up in that ‘pretending-to-be-a-god’ thing with Loki, who’s to say he didn’t do it once or twice before? Kali [didn’t show up as a fully fledged goddess until 900-800BCE](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kali#Origins) (Enki/Eridu’s heyday is estimated between [5300-3800 BCE](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eridu); it’s considered the oldest city in the world), but Kali is also the name of one of the tongues of Agni, who was kicking around in 1500BCE??? So still not old enough, but at this point I was like “THIS IS FICTION OF A FICTITIOUS CHARACTER, IMMA FUDGE IT


	8. Phil Coulson/Ellen Harvelle - undercover drug dealers (WTF, WTAF)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [aiulbones](http://aiulbones.tumblr.com/): AND FOR OLD TIME'S SAKE. Agent Coulson and Ellen Harvelle - undercover drug dealers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU)

“We meet again, ‘agent’,” says the man pinned between her legs, and Ellen swears and rolls off of him, keeping to a crouch behind a late-model sedan. Gunfire from across the street rocks the frame into her side.

“You following me, G-man?” she pants, rucking up her skirt to get at the extra salt shells strapped to her thigh.

“I wasn’t intending to,” Coulson says as he sits up, calm as you please, like getting caught in a firefight during a drugs bust is something he does every day. Hell, maybe he does.

Something whistles past her head close enough to feel the breeze and Ellen ducks down, jackknifing her shotgun open. Beside her, Coulson draws a snub-nosed Browning, shifts up and fires three shots in quick succession.

“That’s odd,” he says as he sinks smoothly back behind the car. Bullets skid across the hood above him. “These drug dealers don’t appear to be dying. From direct headshots.”

Ellen locks the shotgun with a snap. “Oh, you know these demonic types. Tenacious little bastards.”

“Demons,” Coulson says.

She gives him a grim little smile.

“Right.” He holsters the gun. “Do you have any—?”

Ellen passes him a bright green squirtgun sloshing with holy water, and for the first time since they met, Agent Phil Coulson looks baffled.


	9. Cassie/Dean - Cassie Robinson on meeting Dean Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Cassie Robinson on meeting Dean Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know she meets him at college? and college = drunk people, so

“He’s checking you o-o-o-out,” Tiffany says with a leer and a low, drunken giggle, and Cassie rolls her eyes. If, by chance, that roll brings the guy sitting three stools down into view again, that’s a complete coincidence and in no way signifies she’s going to let some douchey fratboy hit on her, oh my God, Tiffany, shut up.

“You li-i-i-ike him,” Tiffany sings, actually wiggling her eyebrows like some kind of horrible Groucho Marx impression. She wraps her tongue around the tiny straws in her electric blue cocktail, taking a sip that hollows her cheeks.

“You’re so wasted,” Cassie marvels, although, granted, Tiff’s a hundred pounds soaking wet and holding a toddler, so that’s not too difficult. “Forget the guy, I’ve got to get you home.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Tiffany says, waving her hands, and almost falls off her stool. “You should. You should get the guy, the guy is super— super hot. Super fly. Probably super freaky—”

“Right,” Cassie says, catching her arm before she topples. “How’s a cab sound, sweetie?”

“My tummy hurts,” Tiffany announces to the bar at large.

It’s all downhill from there, and in the alleyway outside Tiffany tosses her cookies for at least five miserable minutes, Cassie holding her hair and making soothing noises while she reevaluates her Friday night life choices. Honestly.

“Hey,” says a voice over her shoulder, and she turns to see the hot guy from the bar standing at the mouth of the alley. He holds up a bottle of water and a packet of painkillers.

“Both unopened,” he says, correctly interpreting her hard stare. “I just thought she might need these.”

They are unopened, and that saves him from a stiletto pump to the crotch, cute or not. He calls them a cab, too, and helps her pour a much more subdued Tiffany into the back seat.

“You’re quite the gentleman,” Cassie says, warily, and the guy gives her a slow grin, dirty and self-deprecating all at the same time.

“Na, not really,” he says. “My name’s Dean.”

“Cassie,” she says.

“You two should totally frick,” Tiffany says. “Her number is 454—”

Cassie doesn’t think he’s paying attention, but then the cabdriver says Dean’s given him a twenty so she doesn’t need to pay him, and two days later there’s a text on her screen at two in the afternoon:

/hey, how’s your friend doing? you guys make it home okay?/

/is this dean?/

/might be/

She thinks about it while she walks home from class, but in the end, she remembers that smile and thinks, what can it hurt?

/are you free tonight?/

Dean’s answer is almost instantaneous.

/for you? always/


	10. Sam + Dean - Pie ninja

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [plainwater](http://plainwater.tumblr.com/): Sam is a ninja and the reason Dean never has any pie is Sam gets to it first.

“Um,” Sam says. “I can explain?”

“Sure. Go head,” Dean says, arms folded, eyes narrowed. “Go ahead and explain to me exactly why you’re hanging upside-down in the trap I built to catch the pie ninja.”

“Well,” Sam says, suspended by his ankles and still swinging gently. “It’s… not what it looks like?”

“It’s not— you swore, Sam, you fucking swore you weren’t the ninja!”

“I’m not a freaking ninja, Dean! I just… I…I like pie.”

“What?”

“I said I _like pie_ , okay?”

Dean looks stunned. “All… all those times you made fun of me in diners and said my orders were cancelled—?”

“I wasn’t making fun of you, and anyway, that many carbs are bad for you—”

“And when you bought me cake,  _cake_ _—_ ”

“I was soulless! Without a soul! I had a serious dearth of soul and soul-dependent judgement, you can’t—”

“—and you’ve been stealing from me,” Dean says, in tones of deep tragedy. “My own brother. Stealing my pie.”

“Dean—”

“I— think I need to go stare mournfully into the middle-distance,” Dean says, voice catching. “Somewhere windy. And cold.”

“At least get me down from here!” Sam yells after him, but Dean’s already gone.


	11. Charlie/Katie-Werewolf - Nachos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ineffablevegetable](http://ineffablevegetable.tumblr.com/): charlie/werewolf kate, ummmm, nachos. i'm so hungry

“Nachos!”

“Mine,” Kate says instantly, curling protectively around her plate. “Get your own.”

Charlie, already dragging her messenger bag by the shoulder strap, drops it and her coat on the floor and staggers forward anyway. “Kate. Katie. Katie-darling.  _Katherine.”_

 _“No._ _”_  The girl glares at her. “My nachos. That I made. For me.”

Now Charlie drops to her knees and crawls. “Ple-e-e-e-ase,” she moans, reaching out like a man seeing an oasis in the distance. “I just had drove seven hours straight, I’m  _starving.”_

Kate holds the plate out of reach. “The cheese is on the counter and the chips are in the— Charlie! Get off me!”

Charlie wiggles past Kate’s pathetic attempts to dodge her and collapses across her stomach.  _“_ _Na-a-achos.”_

“Stop!” Kate half-screams, half-giggles, struggling to get away without spilling her plate. “Fuck,  _stop!”_

“Nachos or tickles, these are your choices.”

“I’ll dump them on your head!”

“That would be a horrific waste of cheesy goodness, don’t you think?”

“Fine! Have some!  _One._  Have  _one—_ Charlie, you jerk, gimme back my plate!”


	12. Sam + Cas - piggy back rides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ineffablevegetable](http://ineffablevegetable.tumblr.com/): sam/cas, piggy back ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> er… not quite a piggyback ride. um. this one when somewhere odd, sorry. have some british borrowers AU???

The garden has flooded.

Castiel stands at the edge of the pavers of the back stoop, looking out at the sudden sea that has sprung up between him and his Sunday morning market run. It still rains steadily, the drops throwing up tall spouts that threaten to soak him if he strays too close to the steep cliffs of sandstone bricking.

“Mr. Castiel?”

Castiel turns, looks up, up, and up.

“Oh. Good morning, Sam.”

“Good morning.” The child crouches next to him, still a small mountain despite his youth, and holds out his hands for Castiel to step into.

“Remember, not so fast,” Castiel says, and sits in his palm, gripping his thumb tightly as Sam gently lifts him, keeping his hands as steady as he is able.

“It is raining frightfully hard, Mr. Castiel,” Sam tells him solemnly, when Castiel has been safely deposited on his shoulder. “Why, I think you’d have to have a boat to cross the garden today. Do you have one?”

“I do not,” Castiel says, making himself comfortable in the starchy material of Sam’s collar. “Where would I keep it?”

“I suppose that’s true,” Sam says with a sigh. “You and Miss Anna and Mr. Balt’zar and Mrs. Naomi live under the floor, after all, and I can’t imagine there’s much room there for boats.”

“Indeed.”

“I would have liked to see it, though,” he says wistfully. “Are all your things as tiny as you, Mr. Castiel?”

Castiel can’t help but laugh at that. “I assure you, it is by necessity.”

“I say,” Sam says suddenly, as though it’s just occurred to him. “I say, you’ll have a very difficult time getting to market today!”

Castiel sighs. “With this weather, I don’t see how I’ll get there at all.”

“I’ll take you!” Sam says forthrightly, standing so suddenly Castiel has to grab his ear to keep from falling. “I’ll put on my galoshes right away—”

“I think you’d best ask your father first,” Castiel says, “and thank you, Sam, that is a very kind offer. But it really is raining quite hard—”

“I don’t mind!” Sam says, flinging open the door and striding into the house. “It’ll be fun, Mr. Castiel! We’ll eat those funny French pastries and get Mama flowers! And maybe Dean will come!”

“Well, if you think so,” Castiel says, smiling, and clings to Sam’s neck for dear life as the child trots up the stairs to his father’s study.


	13. Dean and Cas are internet friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [s-cornelius](http://s-cornelius.tumblr.com/) asked: For the prompt thing: Dean and Cas are internet friends who meet at a convention. <3

“You can do this, Dean,” Charlie says, with a firm grip on his shoulders and the Serious Business face she only pulls out for dress rehearsals and final boss battles. “I mean, this is Cas! We’ve known him for years! Granted, we’ve never actually seen his face, and he could be a grandmother from Ohio with five thousand cats, or a serial killer, or both, but—”

“Not actually helping,” Dean says, hands on his knees as he tries to breathe past the urge to run, or puke. Because it _is_  Cas. After three fucking years, it’s finally Cas.

“Sorry,” she says contritely. “Should I get a paper bag?”

“No. Nope. I’m good,” Dean says.

“You’re sure?”

Dean stares at ugly dun-colored hotel carpet and the swaying tips of Charlie’s long blonde wig. “Yes, absolutely.”

Charlie waits.

“… I’m going to be sick,” he decides, and of course that’s when some bubbly brunette in a fairly decent sailor suit calls out, “Link! Princess Zelda! Can I get a picture?”

So thank Jesus, Mary and holy Joseph, Dean’s actually standing up straight, smiling big and broad and actually looking like half the best damn Link-Zelda combo in this place, when he spots a guy hesitating a little ways behind their Sailor Jupiter, dwarfed in a huge black cloak that trails on the ground behind him, grey school uniform vest and a Hufflepuff tie knotted right up under his adam’s apple. He’s got a swagbag and a camera clutched tight in his hands, and his head swivels like he’s trying to look everywhere at once, booths and people and the lifesize Star Trek mannequins near the podium. Con virgin, Dean thinks, feeling immediate sympathy.

He keeps glancing at Dean and Charlie and away, scanning the crowd like he’s debating whether to come any closer, so once the brunette bounces off Dean takes pity on the guy and steps forward.

“Hey,” he says with what he hopes is a welcoming smile. “You want a picture, too?”

The newbie flinches a little, looking back a Dean with wide eyes. “Um?”

“We don’t bite, I swear,” Dean says, waving him closer.

“Oh, uh,” the guy says, a surprisingly deep voice for such a skinny dude. “That is. Dean?”

Dean freezes.

Cas blinks up at him, looking hopeful and scared shitless at the same. “Um. I’m Castiel? Cas?”

“Oh man,” Charlie says from behind Dean, “oh  _man_.”

Cas shuffles a little closer, still looking at Dean like he expects him to do something, say something. And Dean would, really, he’d love too, but Cas has these big blue eyes and his lip caught between his teeth, and how can he expect Dean formulate sentences when he’s staring like that, looking just as blown away as Dean feels?

“Cas, you asshat! You’re fucking gorgeous!” Charlie crows and throws herself at him, miles of crinoline and pink satin practically bowling him over. “There’s no way you could be a serial killer with this cutie-pie face!”

“Serial killer?” Cas asks faintly, muffled by her grip.

“She’s right, you know,” Dean says. He wants to duck his head, but he’s a little afraid to look away— if he does Cas might disappear, go back to being nothing but lines in a chat and incredibly sarcastic comments on all Dean’s Han Solo posts. “You’re… you’re really something.”

Cas, blushing all the way to his hairline, snaps, “Well, you didn’t tell me you looked like a  _model_ ,” and then covers his cutie-pie face with his hand while Charlie laughs and laughs and laughs.

“Hey,” Dean says, too-wide smile creeping up on him, too. He can’t stop it and doesn’t know if he wants to. “It’s nice to see you in person, Cas.”

Cas regards him through his fingers as Charlie squeezes him tighter, a somber gaze while his lips quirk up, ever so slightly. “Very. Hello, Dean.”


	14. Dean/Castiel - dragon!Cas AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: if you're still taking prompts? DeanCas AU with Cas as a dragon, whatever you want to do with that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> related to this ([x](http://kototyph.tumblr.com/post/61643664017/college-au-where-sam-convinces-dean-to-sign-up))

“Okay!” Dean announces, grabbing the first bag. “First up, I have— flaming Cheetos.”

“Yo,” Charlie says, making grabby hands.

Dean tosses it to her. “Next up— Lays potato chips. You seriously wanted the pickle ones?”

“Yeah? So what?” Sam says from the couch, holding up his hands. 

“So, that’s fucking disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourself,” Dean says, pitching it underhand.

“No shame,” Sam says in satisfaction, catching the bag and ripping it open. “Because now I’ll get to actually _eat_ them, unlike the last five times.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Dean says dubiously. “Next— blood pops. Dude, please don’t ever make me buy these again.”

“Why?” Benny asks curiously, taking the box from him. “Someone try to stake you in the frozen food aisle, brother?”

Dean gives him a pained look. “The first box I got freaking melted and started dripping out the bottom of the cart. It looked like I’d straight-up murdered most of the groceries!”

“So that’s what this is,” Charlie says, looking down at the rusty streaks on her Cheetos. “Suddenly not so hungry anymore.”

“Exactly,” Dean says, digging deeper into the bag. “Wereboy! Scooby snacks!”

“Sweet,” Garth says, snagging them out of the air.

“And Kevin, I swear to God, you are eating your squid jerky on the deck. I can smell it through the plastic.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kevin says, rolling his eyes as he grabs it.

“And, last but not least— drumroll, please—” Garth and Charlie oblige him. “Fucking coconut charcoal, everyone! Yes, out of all of you losers, Puff the Lazy Dragon definitely wins this round of Why the Fuck Would You Put That on the House Shopping List,” Dean says, dumping the rest of the bag on the counter. “Speaking of, where is Cas?”

“Where else,” Sam says around of a mouthful of dill-flavored grossness.

“He hasn’t actually moved in, like, a month,” Kevin adds, flagrantly ignoring Dean’s edict to eat his fishy shit outside.

“Lies,” Benny says. “He’s been in the den at least once. There’s a new scorch mark on the coffee table.”

“What, seriously?” Dean groans.

“It was the newest episode of As the World Burns,” Charlie tells him. “Apparently Tiamat is carrying Marduk’s litter.”

“But isn’t Marduk the guy who— okay, whatever,” Dean says hastily as Charlie smirks and Sam arches an eyebrow. “I’ll be upstairs, then.”

“See you in June!” Garth calls after him.

* * *

 

There’s a comma-shaped lump in the middle of Dean’s bed when he turns the light on, under what looks like all the comforters in the house and no less than three electric blankets. “Anybody alive in here?”

“G’way,” the lump grumbles. “I’m hibernating.”

“If you’re hibernating, then you don’t need these,” Dean says, shaking the charcoal bag.

The lump jiggles, and a hand emerges to gesture demandingly at empty air. Dean sets the bag in Castiel’s palm and the hand retracts.

“I want you to know I had to go to Crate and Barrel to find that crap,” Dean says, walking to drop his bag next to his desk and toss his coat over a chair. He pulls off his sweatshirt, and after a moment’s consideration toes off his socks and ditches his jeans, too.

The only answers from the lump are crunching noises, and Dean smiles and digs through the geologic layers of bedding until he finds the fitted sheet and Castiel’s bare foot, which flinches away from exposure. “ _Cold_ ,” complains the lump.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, wiggling in under the surprisingly heavy pile.

Castiel is already shifting around to face him, breath hot enough on Dean’s cheek to make him yip and jerk away a little.

“Be quiet,” Castiel orders, sounding sleepy and grumpy, sneaking his hands under Dean’s shirt and hooking a leg over his knees. The bag of charcoal crinkles between them.

It’s mildly claustrophobic, and he’ll wake up sweating like a pig in half an hour, Dean knows. Still, he throws an arm over Castiel’s waist and tugs him closer, pressing a careless kiss to the side of his nose. “Go back to sleep,” he says, closing his own eyes.

“I’m _trying_ ,” Castiel sighs, scalding Dean’s neck from jaw to collar.

Dean swears and cups the back of Castiel’s head, pulling him closer so he can angle his chin up over his shoulder. “Jesus, point that somewhere else, would you?”

“Hmph.”

“Ouch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (writing this led me to [this weird-ass website](http://www.nakedwhiz.com/lump.htm), which I like to think Castiel has bookmarked for easy Christmas gift ideas for nestmates Anna and Balthazar)
> 
> ([Koko Charcoal](http://www.crateandbarrel.com/afire-koko-charcoal/s632198) at Crate and Barrel)
> 
> ([Tiamat](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiamat))


	15. BALTHAZAR+CASTIEL+SAM ARE SPACE PIRATES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **whitmerule**  asked: BALTHAZAR+CASTIEL+SAM ARE SPACE PIRATES.

“ _Careful, young master!_ ” someone calls up from the deck. “ _Wouldn’t want our patron to break his pretty little neck, would we?_ ” 

_“A few more rungs, there’s a lad,”_ another one says cheerfully. _“Almost there. Up y’ get!”_  

Sam steadfastedly ignores them, ignores the nausea building under his tongue and the dizzying drop to the desk below and concentrates on the burning cold metal under his hands, the pinched-white grip of his fingers on the rungs. The muscle in his legs shakes in exhaustion as he slowly, slowly eases up another foot. Another. Another. 

“Look at _that_ ,” comes a voice from above, and Sam very carefully cranes his head back to meet Balthazar’s bird-bright gaze. The first mate crouches at the edge of the helm’s platform, seemingly heedless of the fifty-foot well of space below them, and whatever he sees in Sam’s face makes him chuckle. “Castiel! He made it!” 

“Oh?” the captain says from somewhere beyond him. “Already?” 

“Made of sterner stuff, are you, boy?” Balthazar says as he rocks on his heels, eyes dancing. 

“Help me _up_ ,” Sam manages to grit out, tasting bile, and Balthazar laughs and grabs him under elbows. 

Sam does _not_ make _any_ kind of high-pitched noise as his hands loose contact with the ladder, only pushes up as hard as he can and allows the man to drag him bodily onto the grated metal floor of the command center. 

Captain Novak glances up from where he’s seated in front of a broad swath of instruments, stars stretching into brief streaks of light on the screen beyond them. “Sam,” he greets him. “What can we do for you?”

 Soaked in a cold sweat and panting with the effort of the climb, Sam gets his knees and hands under him and croaks, “Is that _really_ the only way up?” 

“Of course not,” Captain Novak says placidly. “Apologies. I suppose as a ‘patron’ you should be allowed the elevator access codes.” 

“It’s just been so long since we had one,” Balthazar leers. “You’ll forgive us, Your Highness?” 

Sam wants, badly, to say he won’t. To hail one of the patrolling military vessels they’ve slipped past on their ways to the outer rings, hiding in the shadows of derelict stations and wandering asteroids. Or reverse this entire trip, where he never slipped out in the dead of night to the seedier levels of the space station docks, and promised the crew of the _Agnus Dei_ a hundred thousand credits if they would carry him. 

Of course, _that_ would require Dean never having gotten himself _kidnapped by space pirates,_ so it’s all a mute point. Sam steels himself and staggers to his feet, glaring at Balthazar as the man salutes and grins cheerily back. 

“Judging by his trajectory so far, Lafitte is likely angling for Triton’s jumpgate,” Captain Novak says, already refocused on his instruments. A sweep of his fingers calling up a small, unassuming moon in the wake of an enormous blue planet. 

“But— Neptune doesn’t have a jumpgate,” Sam says. “Io is the furthest in the solar system.” 

“The furthest legal, state-monitored, _taxed_ gate, certainly,” Balthazar says patronizingly. “Which is why we need to intercept him before he gets much past Saturn.”

“But he must be halfway there already!” 

“We’ll catch him,” Captain Novak says grimly, and it hasn’t escaped Sam’s notice that the man says _Benny Lafitte_ the same way Ahab says _Moby Dick_ in holovids.

“Aye, we will,” Balthazar echoes. “What was it of yours he stole again, boy?

“Nothing you need mind,” Sam mutters. The last thing he needs is these ‘gentlemen of fortune’ following Lafitte’s example.


	16. Dean Smith x 2014!Cas - 'Leggy Blonde'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [queeniebroccolini](http://queeniebroccolini.tumblr.com/) asked: dean/cas to the tune of 'leggy blonde' by flight of the conchords :3
> 
> -
> 
> ([x](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ec_-DYo2XhQ)) OMFG

“ _Yeah_ , I’m sure,” Victor says, giving Dean a strange look. “He was only in the office for that bullshit yoga workshop HR was putting on. Health and wellness and spiritual fulfillment in the workplace? You know. Bullshit.”

“Right,” Dean says, trying a weak smile. “Sorry, man, I was just… just wondering.”

Victor is still eyeing him suspiciously, leaning back against the door to Dean’s office. “Were you going to—?”

“No!” Dean says, although yes, yes he was. Probably. No, _definitely—_ he’d been daydreaming all afternoon about the incredibly athletic sex he and call-me-Cas could be having that night, if only he could open his damn mouth and _ask._ And he’d been going to ask. Today.

For sure, today.

“Okay then,” Victor says slowly, straightening. “Anyway, you heading out soon? I was thinking of stopping by that bar on 20th.”

“Naw, man,” Dean says, feeling suddenly exhausted and— not _sad_. Okay, maybe a little sad. And sadly blue-balled. “Think I’m going to try to finish the Taylor brief before I get out of here.”

“That does sound like rockin’ good time,” Victor says, utterly deadpan.

Dean shrugs apologetically. “See you Monday?”

Victor gives him a wave that’s more like a brush-off and walks away, disappearing beyond the edge the doorframe. “ _Sucks to be you, Winchester,_ ” comes his disembodied taunt.

“Have a great weekend, dickhead,” Dean grumbles, turning back to his computer and the baleful blink of the cursor on an empty page.

He manages a pretty impressive forty minutes of increasingly listless typing before he lets out a gusty sighs and just folds, arms dropping and his head sinking down to rest on the edge of the desk, forehead just shy of his keyboard.

Fuck his life, though— of course the guy leaves right when Dean’s finally (maybe) gotten it together enough to ask him to… go somewhere, do something, with Dean. Whether it would have been coffee or drinks or tantric sex on the copier was now the mootest of moot points.

“Goodbye, bendy yoga teacher,” Dean says wistfully to the tangled mess of cords leading to his CPU. “You had the most _fantastic_ ass.”

“Aw, Dean,” says a voice from the doorway. It sounds an awful lot like call-me-Cas. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

Dean’s head jerks up and holy shit, it _is_ Cas— Cas in a worn pair of jeans that make Dean’s mouth water, and a devious little smirk that just gets wider as he slowly pulls the door closed behind him.

“You were saying?” he invites, after Dean opens and closes his mouth a few times. He pushes away from the door and takes a few measured steps across the small office, coming close enough to touch. “About my ass?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me,” gets squeezed out of his lungs in a rush, and Dean feels his face flame immediately as Cas arches a single questioning eyebrow. “I mean, uh.”

“Dinner,” Cas repeats thoughtfully. He leans in and reaches for Dean’s tie, tugging lightly on the silk.

“Um,” Dean says, feeling himself start to sweat. “If you’d like to.”

“I think I would,” Cas says, as if surprised at himself. His eyes lift back to Dean’s as he winds the tie around his fist. “But first things first.”

Dean doesn’t have the air or desire to say anything else until he’s flat on his back on his own desk, shirt caught at his elbows and his tie still wrapped tight in Cas’ hand. It drags taut around his throat like a leash, turning his breath ragged as Cas kneels up over him with his jeans snagged around one ankle, otherwise bare and sweat-slick. He grins lazily down at Dean and rolls his hips in a hard grind on Dean’s dick, pulled just barely out of his slacks, and the back of Dean’s head hits wood with a twinge that goes unnoticed in the heart-stopping heat of everything else.

“Here?” he manages to rasp out, hands spread wide and greedy over Cas’ waist and thighs. “Lube?”

“Well, we won’t need _more_ ,” Cas whispers hotly across his chin, brush of his lips electric, “I wore a plug,” and Dean thinks his pathetic, strangled moan is entirely justified, given the circumstances.


End file.
